


February Showers

by andchaos



Series: Destiel Oneshots (for a series of tumblr prompts) [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean's an idiot but his heart's in the right place, and he almost fucks up Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	February Showers

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Cas is upset. He has been dating Dean for 10 months and this is supposed to be their first Valentines Day as a couple. Why is Dean leaving today, of all days to visit Sam? Because he is sad, Cas still heads over to Dean's loft to sleep in his bed. What a surprise, when he gets there he finds the loft lit by candles and Dean dressed in a tux holding 1rose and a box of chocolates the size of his head.

 

Dean was an incorrigible bastard and Castiel hated him.

 

          Well, no, that last part wasn’t quite true, but the first half definitely was: after they’d first met, he’d spent five years getting his ass in gear to ask Cas out; when he’d finally plucked up his courage, he’d done it on _April Fool’s Day_ and had had to spend a solid month convincing him that it wasn’t a joke; he’d told Cas that he was in love with him _yesterday_ ; and now this.

 

          “You’re going to see _Sam_?” he asked incredulously, and maybe he didn’t paint the full picture of terror with a hat shaped like a strange turkey-duck-chicken hybrid but his boss was a vindictive _asshole_ bent on advertising their new sandwich and Dean hadn’t given him time to change before dumping the news on him.

 

          “Look, it’s his first Valentine’s Day without a girlfriend. After Sarah—”

 

          Past caring about the girl Sam had been briefly infatuated with last year before her father’s work took them across the country, Cas angrily cut him off. “Yeah, well, it’s my first Valentine’s Day _with_ someone, so—”

 

          “You’ve never had a Valentine?” Dean asked incredulously. “You’re twenty-three, dude.”

 

          Cas growled low in the back of his throat. Like Dean had any right to talk shit after the bitch fit he’d thrown when Sam had first said that he wanted to live in his own place closer to campus. “You’re digging your own hole deeper, Dean,” he warned.

 

          Dean spread his hands, at a loss but apparently unwilling to budge. Cas let out a frustrated noise and threw his hands up, and, unable to look at him any longer, he stormed away.

 

          _Fuck Dean_ , he thought as he grabbed his backpack and slammed the door shut on Dean’s apartment. _Fuck Dean_ , he thought as he slammed on his horn in the dead-stop traffic en route to his own flat. _Fuck Dean_ , he thought as he flopped backwards on his bed, his stupid hat crushed beneath him, and then: _I wish_.

 

          The worst part is that he _wanted_ to be mad at Sam, but he’d been Sam’s friend first; they’d met in an econ class freshman year and had become fast friends, resulting in the meeting of Cas and Dean and subsequently the Longest Mating Ritual in the History of the All Time and Space, as Sam liked to call it. So he wasn’t so much peeved at Sam for craving some kind— _any_ kind—of company as he was with Dean for obliging him. Yeah, they were brothers, but the whole point of today was to spend it with a _significant other_ , which in most people’s cases was _not_ anyone from their family.

 

          He spent the afternoon trying to distract himself—grad school work, research for his independent study, debating whether to quit his job for the eighth time that week, and finally video games. The last one was at least _almost_ distracting.

 

          After a wholly unsatisfying dinner consisting of ramen and ice cream—because, come on, he was allowed to sulk _a little_ —he put on pajamas and crawled into bed, hoping for an early night. He turned to check the time. 8 o’clock.

 

          Okay. A _very_ early night.

 

          Sighing, he decided to maybe have a shower first. Of course, that only lasted about twenty minutes no matter how he tried to draw it out, and when he was tugging his favorite green sweatpants back on his cell phone ring. He padded over to it where it lay on his bedside table, checking the caller ID. _Dean_. He hesitated, seriously considering not picking up.

 

          “Hello?”

 

          “Hey, baby,” Dean sighed, voice contrastingly gentle to Cas’s grunting.

 

          “What?”

 

          “Look, I’m sorry about today,” he began in a strangely tentative voice that Cas associated with fidgeting.

 

          Cas had no answer to that that wasn’t utterly scathing, so he said nothing.

 

          After an uncomfortable pause, Dean continued. Haltingly. “Well, uhm. So. Sam’s making us watch dick flicks all night, and I—well, to be honest I’d rather be with you, but—well, I kind of started drinking so I can’t really drive, but…I-if you want, you could maybe stay at my loft tonight and I’ll be back in the morning to make it all up to you?”

 

          More stony silence on Cas’s end.

 

          “I’m really sorry,” Dean rushed on. “I’m an idiot, I know, but if you let me make it up to you tomorrow, I swear I’ll find some way to make you not hate me. I know I’m like the worst boyfriend in the history of the universe—”

 

          _Multiverse_ , Cas corrected automatically in his head. If he was going to apologize he could at least pretend to be accommodating of Cas’s philosophy degree.

 

          “—and all I’ve ever done is fuck up big time in this whole relationship, but I want to—”

 

          “—make it up to me,” Cas finished drily. “Yes, I’ve heard.” He paused again, feeling Dean’s anxious silence. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m kind of busy right now. So how about you finish enjoying your brother’s company and I’ll call you tomorrow?”

 

          “Cas—”

 

          “Goodnight, Dean,” he said harshly.

 

          He practically threw his phone down on the bed before falling backwards onto the covers. Stupid Dean. Stupid Dean with his stupid phone calls and his stupid apologies. He burrowed under his sheets again, drawing them around him where he’d curled up in a little ball, but ten minutes of laying there proved it was useless; he hadn’t slept alone in a bed in months, and he couldn’t go back now.

 

          Well, Dean was out of the question, but maybe his bed wasn’t. It might help a little. And it’s not like Dean even had to _know_ that he’d caved; he could be in and out before Dean got back tomorrow, and it’s not like Dean ever made his bed so he wouldn’t even know the difference.

 

          “Fuck!” he growled to himself as he climbed back out from under his covers.

 

          He scrounged up an old t-shirt so as not to scar Dean’s neighbors and pulled on a sweatshirt as he walked through his apartment, grabbing the keys next to the door and forgetting about shoes altogether. His old car took two tries to start and he hit more traffic on the way there, because most people were actually trying to have a romantic evening on Valentine’s Day, but he finally made it to the correct apartment complex. Fortunately, he’d slept over here enough times between his friendship with Sam (the Winchesters had lived together throughout the undergrad years) and his relationship with Dean that the doorman let him through, and he wandered down the dark halls of the first floor with a stormy expression and dark curses streaming from his mouth. He stopped in front of the door, debating whether he really wanted to sink this low, but really, nobody had to know and he honestly couldn’t sleep alone. Stupid Dean with his stupid face and his stupid—

 

          “What?”

 

          The entire front room was _covered_ in red, almost unrecognizable from where Cas stood frozen in the doorway. Rose petals were littered everywhere, except for this one path that led through the living room to where Cas knew Dean’s bedroom was. He sighed; apparently Dean was really hell-bent on this whole “apology” thing tomorrow, but Cas was pretty sure this would all merely serve as a reminder in the morning and piss him off. Nevertheless, he shoved the spare key in his jacket pocket and shut and latched the door. He started through the little path, grabbing the open wine bottle on the counter as he passed, hoping that the bedroom, at least, would be clear of hearts and related paraphernalia.

 

          To be honest, when he first opened the bedroom door and saw a figure standing the middle of a circle of stumpy candles, in a pool of so many cut-out hearts and roses that he could barely see the floor, Cas almost chucked the wine bottle at his head. As it was, he brought back his arm to swing, but then Dean jumped forward and grabbed him to stop him.

 

          “Dean?” Cas yelped, his heart hammering in his chest. “What the fuck?!”

 

          “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said uncertainly, stepping back to a safe distance.

 

          “What are you doing here? How did you even know I’d stop by?”

 

          “Because I know you,” he said, gently prying the wine from him on the off-chance that he still wanted to smash it in his face, and setting it down on the carpet. “I bought you chocolates,” he added, holding out a box the size of his face and a single, intact rose.

 

          Still unsure if he wanted to punch him or kiss him, Cas reached out to take the offerings, then jumped and dropped both of them on the floor, cursing and shaking his hand.

 

          “Fuck! I thought I got all the thorns out,” Dean said apologetically, reaching forward to take his wrist. “Let me see.”

 

          As Dean extended Cas’s arm so as to better examine the wound, Cas stepped forward to make it easier, eyes traveling around the room.

 

          “Not so bad,” Dean said softly, bending to kiss his thumb where the blood was welling. “You okay?”

 

          “I think I’ll live,” said Cas, rolling his eyes. “Nice tux.”

 

          Dean looked down at himself, blushing, but Cas smiled at the gesture, because Dean _really_ hated suits and everyone knew it. Cas reached his free hand—Dean hadn’t released the other—to tug lightly on his cummerbund, and when it held up, he smirked.

 

          “You look good,” he offered.

 

          “You too,” said Dean, and Cas snorted. “No, really,” Dean insisted.

 

          Cas swallowed thickly, hyperaware of Dean’s eyes all over him. The worst part was that he probably meant it.

 

          “Alcohol?” he offered, reaching down for the forgotten bottle and turning to pour it into two glasses by his bed.

 

          Cas followed him over, silent while he made drinks and accepting his glass just as quietly. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, still trying to riddle out Cas’s expression. He tugged on Cas’s hand until he sat down beside him, sipping at the wine.

 

          “I feel like I fucked up again,” Dean said suddenly, grinning embarrassedly.

 

          Cas smiled and set his glass down. “You did,” he admitted, but before Dean could say anything else he lunged forward to kiss him, waiting until Dean put his wine down, too, before pushing him backwards properly.

 

          Yeah, Dean was a fucking idiot.  But Cas was in love with him.

** **


End file.
